Work Text:
I was born with a hammer, tightly held in my tiny baby fists
For many years I wondered what it was for
I was far too small to wield it for anything useful,
and each time I swung it at a lamp I was scolded
For years I dragged my hammer along everywhere I went
Eventually, I realized my hammer was fun to play with
I'd gather my friends at recess and spin around with it,
knocking people over as I went
When the people I hit with my hammer left,
I didn't know why
My hammer was fun to play with for me,
so if they didn't like it maybe it was for the best that they left
Thats what I told myself, anyways
Over the years, I made new friends
After a while I stopped playing with my hammer at recess,
and I kept it in my backpack during class
It was until my friend tried to kill themselves
That I realized what my hammer was for
A hammers purpose is to fix things
and my friend needed a few nails to keep them from crumbling
My hammer was the tool I was given to help others
My hammer was very useful as I grew up
People would come to me for repairs
Some nails, glue and duct tape to hold them together
As I got older, my hammer got heavier
It dragged behind me as I walked
and if I wasn't careful it would break things
Still, people came to me for repairs
They knew I was safe, and that I'd help them
I had to.
In time my hammer was too heavy to move
It took so much effort to drag it out of bed with me
that I started wondering if it was worth it
The hammer, that I had decided was a curse, wouldn't leave
I tried to hide it, throw it off cliffs and leave it in fields
It always came back.
I stopped doing repairs, packed away my duct tape and glue
My parents were worried that I was sick
Other than my hammer, I was fine
But my hammer was my problem, and I had to deal with it
My mother suggested that I try sharing it
Break it into smaller pieces
and hand them away
So, later that night, I took a chisel to my hammer and broke off a corner
I gave it to one of my friends, and they stopped needing me for repairs
I broke more chunks and gave them to more people
each stopped needing my nails and duct tape and glue.
Finally, I gave the last piece to my mother
My hammer was a hammer no longer, now only a handle
A reminder of my purpose, gone.
It was lighter, though
I could do anything, just as easily as before
Without the weight of my hammer behind me
but with the absence, I realized
Now that people don't need me for repairs,
They don't need me at all.
I stopped responding to messages
I decided that if people didn't need me
They wouldn't want me either
It stayed that way for a few weeks
I came to terms with it and accepted it
Later that week however
My friend stopped me in the hall
They gave me the piece of my hammer
and told me that they needed repairs
One by one,
Each person who had part of my hammer followed suit
No matter how hard they tried, the hammer only hurt them
Their nails bent, their glue never dried and their tape didn't stick
I had my purpose back
My hammer was as heavy as ever, but I was needed
That in itself was all I needed
I needed my hammer
My purpose